Yours To Keep
by Notatracer
Summary: [Dreamcatcher] *Complete* Story Of Beaver's brief marriage mentioned in book. Mix of book, movie, & my own sad sack tale.
1. The Beginning

__

To say that Beaver's marriage didn't work would be like saying that the launch of the Challenger space shuttle went a little bit wrong. Joe "Beaver" Clarendon and Laurie Sue Kenopensky made it through eight months and then kapow, there goes my baby, somebody help me pick up the fucking pieces. ~Dreamcatcher, p. 10

The year was 1987. This was the year that I had my first waitress job, attended my first punk concert, and was finally starting to feel like I was making it on my own… at the ripe ol' age of twenty-three. This was also the year that I became both the wife and ex-wife of one Mr. Joseph Clarendon, otherwise known by the rather questionable nickname of Beaver. We were quite a site to behold. I with my bad 80s fashion and mall hair, he looking like some sort of a cross between a nerdy hippie and the Marlboro man. 

My name at the time we met was Laurie Sue Kenopensky. I was a New Jersey transplant who somehow or another found myself living in Maine of all places that year. Granted that they were both in the Northeast, but the Jersey shore was a far cry from the northern most state in New England. 

I had just gotten off from my shift at the diner. It was late, maybe two or three in the morning. It was definitely after midnight. I had to park my car over a block away from the diner because of some water main project the city was doing on that street. Never mind that some of us had to walk in the cold at ungodly hours. 

I didn't see him until he was almost at me. I don't know if I hadn't been paying attention or my mind had simply frozen. In any case, I remember how cold he looked bundled up in his dirty denim jacket. He didn't seem to notice me at all. That is until, just as he was passing me by.

As he walked by me, there was a sound. It was the oddest thing I think I'd ever experienced up to that point in my life. The sound is sort of hard to describe to someone who's never heard it before, perhaps the sound of a poorly tuned radio might come close. It was an unintelligible bunch of noise that resembled voices, but they all ran together and made no sense. I later found out that this was the sound of thought. Only in order to understand it you had to pick out what you wanted and hone in on it. Sort of like tuning a radio to the right station, if we want to go back to that analogy again. Anyway, as he passed, this sound filled my head. 

He had heard it too, obviously, because we both looked at each other at the same time. We both stopped walking and stood for a moment. The amalgamation of noise died down to a low buzz then stopped completely. I was left with only the sounds of my inner voice, and I presume it had gone away for him as well. Though, of course, I couldn't be certain. 

He looked tired, drunk too. Actually, he didn't just look drunk, he reeked of alcohol. Against my better judgment, I asked if he wanted a ride home. He nodded yes, then quietly walked with me to my car.

This would come to be known as the beginning of his dark time, his blue period as it were. Otherwise, he would have had a smile and talked a mile a minute. But, not tonight. He seemed to have a cloud of doom hanging over his head. Which was probably for the best, if he were in cheerful mode he wouldn't have seemed so sad and I may not have been inclined to offer him a ride. He may not have even accidentally shared his thoughts as we passed as strangers, and we never would have met. Funny how things work.

We didn't get maybe five minutes from where my car had been parked before I looked over to find him sleeping almost peacefully in the passenger seat. He hadn't told me where he lived. He hadn't told me his name. In fact, I didn't even know what his voice sounded like. I reached over and gently pried the toothpick from his mouth, not wanting him to swallow it. 

I let him sleep. From the looks of him, I doubted very much that he'd be able to give directions home anyway. A Flock Of Seagulls was one of the bands on the radio that night. Romeo Void was another. I only remember because that was the last time my car's stereo wasn't tuned to the oldies station.

When we got to my apartment, I all but carried him in. He was awake enough to walk, but he relied on me to hold him up and prevent him from running into anything. I lived in a tiny studio apartment. I had a bed, a black and white tv, and several milk crates that served as tables. That was basically the extent of my furniture. If he were a date I would have been too embarrassed to bring him here. But, as it were, he was just some guy around my own age who needed a place to sleep it off.

I helped him onto the bed. He fell asleep again while sitting up as I helped him take his jacket off. Or, rather I took it off for him. He woke up again for a minute and mumbled something as he lay down. But, he was out for the night before I swung his feet up onto the bed. I took off his Doc Martens and glasses but left everything else alone. 

Now, the next part may seem questionable, but let me say this… there are big rats in Maine. Or at least there were in my apartment building, so I wasn't about to sleep on the floor. I had a reasonably sized bed though, so it wasn't like we were even touching. Of course, if I seem prudish in any way, that all changed soon enough.


	2. Beaver & Laurie Sue

The next morning, I was awakened by him rubbing his hand across my face and through my hair. I opened my eyes to find him smiling at me. It took a moment for my sleepy brain to recognize him. I honestly thought for a brief half second that he was this skate punk kid I had known back in Jersey. But, no, it was the drunk guy from last night. Odd how so many people in the world look similar. He looked a hell of a lot better in this light. Sloppy drunk isn't really pretty on anyone though.

He said, "Can you hear me?"

Which I thought was an odd question at first before I realized that he hadn't actually said anything. His words were in my brain. He repeated himself. This time I whispered "yes". I had never completely bought into the whole psychic thing before then. Even Miss Ivana's psychic stylings still left me thinking she was awfully vague. As for myself, about the most impressive thing my mind had ever been able to do was sometimes I'd know what episode of a tv show was going to come on or pull a Jeopardy answer out of thin air. Not exactly the stuff Kreskins are made of. 

Before I could ask my nameless friend how he was doing that, he had already leaned forward and kissed me. And, what can I say? We were young and impulsive and very single. A guy and a girl barely out of their teens sharing a bed doesn't usually end up any other way. Not if they're telling the truth.

Making love with someone, while each of you could hear each other's thoughts is an interesting experience to say the least. Imzadi, I think is the Star Trek word for it. I had never thought one day I'd be comparing my sex life to sci-fi. It didn't happen every time; in fact it was rare. But, it happened this first time. I didn't know why, I just guess some things you don't ask too many questions about.

Afterwards, he held me and unfurled what I assumed to be his entire life's story in about the span of ten minutes. Everything from his friends and their adventures to his alcoholic father and overprotective mother to the most random things. He just talked and talked non-stop. That was the first time I'd heard someone successfully say 'fuck' no less than six times in a single sentence. On other people that might be obnoxious, but there was something about his casual and heavy profanity that I found, I don't know, adorable in a way. He smiled as I told him my far more concise and boring story. Mostly about how I had transferred up here from Rutgers, then quit school, and was now stuck in this boring little town. 

I blushed when I realized that I still didn't know his name. I was preoccupied when he was sharing his thoughts with me, so if I'd heard it then I hadn't taken note.

"Joe Clarendon…" was his answer, "…but most people call me Beaver."

"Beaver?"

He rolled his eyes and smiled again. That was his, 'it's just one of those things' expression.

"Mine's Laurie Sue Kenopensky. I don't have a potentially vulgar nickname, though."

He got very quiet for a moment. You know the expression that a baby gets when he's talking a really big shit? Well, that's the exact same expression that Beaver gets when he's deep in thought. I wasn't sure if he was contemplating the origins of his nickname since I brought it up, or he had eaten something the night before that didn't agree with him. As it turns out, neither was the case.

He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Well, Miss Laurie Sue Kenopensky… will you marry me?"

I don't think I would have been any more shocked at that moment had he turned into a duck. I can't remember what I was thinking, if I was able to think anything. All I do know is that after what seemed like an eternity, I said, "Sure."

He moved into my itty-bitty studio that same day since he was still living with his parents. Thankfully, he didn't bring much as there was no room. He brought things like his clothes and other necessities. Plus, he had a color tv, a couple of tables, and a lamp. That was an awesome lamp. And, of course, he insisted on hanging his silly little dreamcatcher in the corner. We found a place that would marry us, and were Mr. and Mrs. Clarendon before the week was out. It was just the two of us, so we both had to call all of our friends and family and break the news. Most of them sounded bewildered and less than pleased. I was sure that at least some of my relatives were taking bets over how long it would last. Probably some of his as well. Our wedding gifts were money and two toasters. And, some of his friends took us out to dinner. 

We were desperately poor, but happy. Happy in the way that only a couple of crazy kids who got married on impulse could be. I had my job at the diner and he did something or other at a factory. I'm not exactly sure now what he did, but it didn't pay very much. He could have worked with his dad and made more, but he wanted to prove he could get his own job or something pseudo macho along those lines.

I said something to him one day about his long hair. I didn't think it suited him. He liked it, but what did he know? He didn't even wear matching socks half the time. He gave me this sob story about why he didn't go to a barber. I talked him into letting me cut his beloved hair. Assuring him that it'd grow back. I don't think I did such a bad job. He grumbled for a little bit, but let me have at it with the scissors whenever I felt like it. 

Probably about the most annoying habit of his was the constant chewing of stuff. Well, second to his inability to put the toilet seat down, but that was a universal male problem. His chewing though… ugh. There were toothpicks everywhere in the oddest places. Almost every day I'd find one hanging out of the corner of the interior light of my car. He mangled any pencil he could find. The ends of my ink pens I used at work were chewed flat. None of our hoodies had those little plastic things on the end of the pull strings anymore. If he wore it, that was the end of the plastic thing. I suggested maybe he try gum, but that turned into a disaster. He'd chew things with the gum in his mouth; thus getting gum stuck to everything. God love him, he never was very bright.


	3. Beav Gets The Blues

We played house like this for about maybe four months before things started to go bad. I suppose the actual moment that was the beginning of the end was when he got the phone call that his mother had died. He didn't say a word for two days straight. Not a 'doodlyfuck' or a 'fuck me freddy' or even a simple 'hi'. Nothing. I wasn't used to this side of him. I was used to the always wearing a smile, let's make this a great day, la-di-fucking-da side. Not this one that broke my heart to look at. 

He finally started talking again after the funeral. His friends had come and he had talked to them. I don't know about what, I let them have their moment. So long as he was speaking again, I was content. 

The next day things seemed to be fine again. He wasn't cheerful by any means, but I wasn't worried so much about him. He even went back to work; he had to. We were very very poor. That lasted for maybe a week, week and a half at most. Then, he quit going to work. He started to do less and less until finally he barely got out of bed anymore. He was fully in the midst of his so-called dark time. I started working double shifts and as many hours as possible at the diner. Then, got a second job. But, it was still barely enough. I had the heat, gas, and phone shut off. I sold my car. Our refrigerator stayed empty and unplugged to save on the power bill. Not that we had food to put in it. We lived off of left overs from the end of the night at the diner. I sold everything that wasn't nailed down. And, still, it wasn't enough.

I told him over and over again that I couldn't live like this. Told him that I loved him, but this wasn't right. He apologized but ultimately did nothing. When November came, he took off with his buddies on their annual hunting trip. Which I think was just a thinly veiled excuse for them to get together, get drunk and do whatever men do when women aren't around. Belch, scratch, piss in the snow, swap disgusting stories. Who knows. I didn't care though. He'd gotten up and out and did something. I was hopeful. 

He came back; full of stories that he told with that boyish exuberance I thought I might never see again. He was grinning ear to ear, making me promises of buying me a house and a new car and of him becoming a 'real man', as he called it. He even promised to buy me a wedding ring soon, instead of the ring he'd bought at K-Mart for $6. Though it was only glass and probably a bit of plastic, I cherished my cheap wedding ring. Still do. Though I keep it in a box now. 

I believed him. I think he believed himself as well. Before long he fell back over again. Losing interest in everything. I wanted him to call his friends, but he said 'no'. I couldn't call them. I only knew them by first name or nickname. 

It absolutely physically pained me to do it, but I decided the only way was to leave him. My mother's nagging insistence to move back home swayed my decision more than slightly. I packed a bag and bought a bus ticket. Then, I took every single penny I had and gave it to him. It was enough to get him through one month. After that, he'd have to get a job. I prayed that he would do the right thing. I can't even properly convey in words how worried I was he might do something stupid. But, my mother convinced me that this was the right thing to do. Thinking back, I'm not so sure it was.

I told him that I loved him with all my heart and for him to call me any time of the day or night that he felt that he needed to talk. He ultimately agreed, saying that he was no good for me. I tried to convince him otherwise, but it was one of those conversations that go around in circles. Our divorce was finalized in 1988.

My mother gave me hell when I moved back in. Pointing out all the ways I'd been stupid. It bothered me at first, but then I remembered that she was crazy and just ignored it. I knew in my heart that there was love in Beaver's heart.

Two of the longest months of my life passed before he finally called to tell me that he had gotten a job. I told him how proud I was of him, and I sincerely meant it. It was an awkward conversation consisting mostly of 'how are you'. We never said 'I love you' to each other again (at least not out loud), but we remained friends. Maybe glorified pen pals. We'd call and write each other over the years about what was going on, being sure to leave out anything that had to do with who we may or may not have been dating. I kept the name Laurie Sue Clarendon. I said it was because it was an easier name to pronounce and spell than Kenopensky. But, the truth of it was that it was proof, at least to myself, that he had loved me. I hadn't imagined everything. 


	4. Just In Case

It's 2001 now, thirteen years after our divorce. I can't believe it's been that long. I still remember the look in his eyes as I walked out the door. About a week ago he called me, saying that he was in the Village and needed directions to my apartment. He sounded odd. He said that he really needed to see me, that it was important. I suggested he take a cab, but he said that he had spent his last dollar on a bus ticket. I would have paid the driver, but as it turned out he was only a block from where I lived. 

We hadn't seen each other since that fateful day in December of '87, but there were no awkward pauses. No searching for words. I opened the door and we immediately kissed and hugged then kissed some more. Then we fucked on the couch without so much as a 'hi, how are you'. It was like the first few months of our ill-fated marriage all over again. We were older and a lot worse for the wear, but everything was basically in the same place. 

I knew he'd ridden that many hours on the bus for more than just a quickie, so as I fixed him a post-sex peanut butter sandwich, I asked the question.

"Why are you here?"

He adjusted his clothes before answering, in the most sincere voice I'd ever heard come out of his mouth since the morning he proposed to me.

"I have the feeling that something bad's going to happen to me."

I handed him his sandwich, which he accepted with a smile. 

"You're just being paranoid."

"No. This isn't like that… This is… fuck… well, this is _that_ feeling. You know…"

He looked down solemn faced at his sandwich. I knew exactly what feeling he meant. He had told me the day before his mother died that he had a bad feeling, but he didn't know about what. 

"I had a dream…" he started but trailed off.

I hated when he had those dreams. Nightmares were more like it. Premonitions was a more apt word, but they were oft times visions of things that were best called bad dreams. Even though sometimes he had them when he wasn't even asleep. 

"You can tell me about it."

He'd unburdened the horrific things he'd sometimes see in his mind so many times over the years. But, this time he shook his head 'no'. 

"I… I… I just… that is… fucking jesus christ bananas, I can't even fucking talk."

He let out a long sigh and bit his sandwich before trying again.

"I wanted to see you again. Just in case… in case…"

I managed a smile at him. 

"Just in case a tribe of Amazon women kidnap you and make you their sex slave while you're up there running around in the woods?"

He smiled at that idea and finished his sandwich.

I called out of work for the entire week with a 'family emergency', and in a sense this was. I think we did a pretty good job of making up for lost time. He grinned like a cheshire cat almost twenty-four-seven. The day before he left, I gave him a much needed haircut. He was letting it get scraggily again. Then, we went out on the town. The first time we'd left the apartment all week. 

The next day he was going to take a late bus so he would get back home the following morning with enough time to pack before his friends picked him up to go on that annual hunting trip of theirs. I did everything he wanted to do that day and evening. Just in case. Not that I minded. It was fun. He was my lil' fuckaree, as he would say.

I went with him to the bus terminal. I had to buy his return ticket. As his bus was loading he held both my hands and said, "I'm sorry about this whole, ya know, fuckarow. When I come back, I'm going to buy you that house and that car I promised. And, I'm going to buy you the ring you deserve. I'm not even sure I want to go this time. But, it's fucking tradition… and my cabin. "

He smiled. We hugged, followed by a quick little kiss. He turned and hurried over to the small crowd of people waiting to get on the bus.

Before he got out of hearing range, I called out, "Joe!"

He turned, wrinkling his nose, as if to say 'what did you call me?!'

"Be careful!"

He smiled and nodded 'okay'. 

After he had already gotten on the bus, I said quietly as an afterthought, "I love you."

I don't know if he heard me in that special way that he sometimes could. But, the moment I said it, he popped his head back out the door of the bus. He waved one last time before going inside. Though, he was much too far away for me to have heard him, I swore I heard him say, "I'll be back in a week."

I never doubted anything he'd ever said to me more than I doubted he would be back in a week. He's only been gone for a couple of days now. Nothing bad's happened to him yet. I know that I would know if he were hurt. I have no way of justifying this feeling, it's just a feeling. 

I wish he had told me what he had dreamt about. What had gotten him so worked up that he came all of the way down here to possibly see me one last time. No, not one last time. He was going to be fine. He probably made the whole thing up so he'd have an excuse to visit. I just wish I knew what it was. Maybe there's something I could do to help. I wish he'd find a phone and call me. Though I'm sure I'm just worrying about him too much as usual. He's a big boy. He can take care of himself. He'll be fine. He'd be better if he'd give up on those damn toothpicks though. Disgusting habit will be the death of him.


End file.
